


Poach

by yeaka



Series: Chocono [9]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chocobos, Gen, Vignette, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis is caught.
Series: Chocono [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577287
Comments: 13
Kudos: 72





	Poach

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks to Opal and Holly for the bun!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s becoming harder and harder to find good grass for grazing—and Ignis prefers not to settle for grass at all, but hearty gysahl greens have become even rarer. He blames the hunters, partially because he’s seen them trample down whole paths with his own two eyes, and partially because humans can be blamed for almost everything. Perhaps they didn’t bring the vicious herds of voretooth into the forest, but they’ve certainly let more than one coeurl loose, and they take their noisy vehicles too far into the natural terrain. Ignis does his best to steer clear of them. He tries to make sure his whole flock does. He keeps conveying to Noctis that if there’s even _one_ more incident, they really should relocate—Noctis lets his guard down too much by falling asleep absolutely everywhere, and Prompto’s far too trusting. Gladiolus is too over-confident, and Ignis can’t always be there to be wary on their behalf. 

He pauses with his beak buried in the ground, then lifts it to the wind, feathers rustling in the light breeze that weaves between the thick tree trunks. A soft _kweh_ sounds in the distance, followed by an indignant _wark_ : the playful music of Noctis and Prompto playing. Satisfied that his brethren are safe, Ignis fluffs his wings and returns to snapping at the ground, pulling up roots in his thorough feeding. 

He pads farther down the path, always paying attention to the quiet noise around him, always cautious of predators and people and even the distant rumblings of disquieting weather—

His talon flattens over something unnatural. It’s thin and straight like a stiff worm. He barely has time to squeal in dismay before the ground’s leaping up to meet him. He’s thrown into the air, his wings rising on instinct, but they’re trapped inside the confines of a rapidly shrinking cage. Thick ropes cut into him from all sides, dislodging feathers and hiking up his tail. His legs poke helpless out of two holes, and they claw desperately at the air—his wings flap in what little space they have. There’s no end to his distressed whines. The irony isn’t lost on him—he’s the most careful of his entire herd, and yet he’s tied up and hanging from a tree branch, just waiting to be some awful human’s dinner. 

In a heartbeat, gold and black smudges are streaking out of the forest. His three comrades spot him and circle underneath him, squawking and flailing as they try to reach him. They can’t quite get enough ground, and even if they could, they wouldn’t have enough purchase to break his bonds. He can’t get in the right position to do it himself. Prompto settles first, wailing sympathetically, while Gladiolus eventually slows and Noctis keeps trying, staring up at Ignis with fire in his eyes. Ignis shakes his head down at them. 

It’s useless. And it’s foolish of them to stay. Obviously, some human made this trap, so obviously, a human will be back, and Ignis won’t have his flock fall prey to that. He tries pointing at the foliage with one crowded wing tip and nods his neck towards it. He tries to _kweh_ them away, but none of them go. 

Ignis even tries _warking_ terribly at them, trying to scare them off, and Noctis and Prompto do skitter away for half a second, but Gladiolus just _warks_ back as if to say he’s not going anywhere. It doubles Ignis’ distress. 

His efforts increase tenfold when he hears footsteps coming. He calls wildly at them, urging them to go, to leave him—he would gladly sacrifice himself for any one of them, let alone all three. He tries to implore Gladiolus to understand that—to guide the younger two away. But as soon as a human steps out of the shadows, Gladiolus charges forward with the ferocity of a cornered mesmenir. The human shouts and dodges, just in time for Noctis and Prompto to fly at him. 

Growling in its alien dialect, the human runs from them, but not away—he comes for Ignis, rising some kind of shiny tool that Ignis has seen take down countless beasts. He cowers as much as the net allows, and the tool seems to explode, a loud _bang_ freezing everyone. Then Ignis is dropping—he hits the ground in a tangle of webbing, flailing again. His friends are on him in a heartbeat, pecking the pesky bindings away. 

In no time at all, Ignis is being prodded upright. He wobbles onto his talons and stands, panting hard and staring at the human—a large, pink creature with dark draping down the middle and black markings all over its flesh. It says something to him, which Ignis assumes must be friendly, because he’s not dead. Gladiolus steps warily in front of Ignis. 

Ignis nips at Gladiolus’ neck feathers to hold him back. It’s alright. There’s no serious damage—just a few ruffled feathers and a bruised ego. Noctis protectively brushes his black wings over Ignis’ bent tail, smoothing them out, and Prompto nuzzles into him. 

Ignis _kwehs_ his thanks. Then he trots swiftly off into the safety of the bush, his best friends at his side.


End file.
